1 



PS 3545 
.052 S6 
1917 
Copy 1 





^METHINO 






WILLIAM W. WOODBRIDGE 





f 






HER GOLDEN HAIR WAS CROWN INDEED" 



SOMETHING 
MORE 

By WILLIAM W. WOODBRIDGE 



Author of "That Something," "Skooting Skyward, 
"The Kidnapping of Woodrowena." 




Illustrations by J. STEDMAN WOOD. 



SMITH-DIGBY CO. 

PUBLISHERS TACOMA, WASH. 






1 



Copyright, 1917 
Bt Smith-Kinnet Co. 



Entered at Stationers' Hall, London 

All Right$ Reserved, including that of Filmization and Translation 

into Foreign Langtiages, including Scandinavian 



-/) 



MAR 12 iS17 



PRESS OF 

SMITH-KINNEY CO. 

TACOMA, WASH. 



OGi,A45?408 



FOREWORD 

It is claimed by many of the readers 
of "That Something" that its philos- 
ophy has awakened in them a desire to 
succeed in a material sense, but that 
there must be something more than 
this in life, something deeper, more 
kindly, something of tenderness and 
love. 

And they are right. There is ** Some- 
thing More," and the author has striven 
to set forth in this sequel to his former 
story a happier ending to life's striv- 
ings than merely material success. 

Publishers. 



" SOMETHING MORE." 

BY W. W. WOODBRIDGE 

A crimson smile lay dying in the 
West, while the East sent shadows 
creeping from her night. 

The steady roar below gave place to 
fitful noise. 

I sat alone. 

The darkened room oppressed me 
strangely as idly I watched the golden 
clouds out yonder lose their wealth. 

The darkness from the East crept on. 

The crimson smile became a line of 
fire. The sky grew deeper. The stars 
came out, first singly, then in clusters. 

Now a million shone like yellow dia- 
monds floating on a purple sea. 

And then the night was conqueror. 



'Something More' 



A sense of infinite uselessness op- 
pressed me. 

Another day was done. 

What had it meant — to me? 

How had it differed from the day be- 
fore? 

How from the day a year ago? 

A little more of worldly wealth was 
mine. 

But what of that? 

A little closer lay the end of things. 

But what of that? 

This day was done. 

For me, for you, for yonder pauper — 

Each had seen the glory of the sink- 
ing sun, and each saw and felt the 
dreariness of night draw in. 

These things I pondered. 

Across the city's twinkling streets, I 
saw a Club ablaze with lights. 



'Something More" 



There was my home. 

And there a welcome waited me — 

A welcome waited there for any man, 
if he had wealth and certain culture — 

A cold and calculating welcome! 

And as I sat there dreaming, I saw 
again myself, as I had stood there on 
the corner years ago — shivering, wet, 
miserable, in rags — searching, ever 
searching for the kindly light of sym- 
pathy in some man*s eye. 

Where waits there welcome for such 
a man as I had been? 

Ah, Clink of Gold, to what art thou 
not the magic password? 

And from the streets below I lifted 
once again my eyes. 

So, sinking deeper in my leather 
chair, I let my fancies wander with the 
stars. 



10 



'Something More' 




i^=U 




Randolph came into the office. 

"What's this, old soldier/* he cried 
brusquely, "sitting here in the dark 
moping, after that deal weVe just 
closed. Can't you realize that today's 
cleanup means more than a cold hun- 
dred thousand to us?" 

A cold hundred thousand — cold, 
bitter cold! 

I answered nothing. 

The lights snapped on. 

I felt, rather than saw, Randolph 
start and look at me queerly. 

"What's wrong, son? You look as 
though you had lost instead of won." 

"What have I won, Randolph — what 
have I ever won?" 



^'Something More" 11 

''What profit it that a man win the 
whole world and lose Life's Happiness?" 

A puzzled expression flicked his face. 

"What have you won? Why, every- 
thing, boy, everything there is to win. 
You have wealth, social position, health 
and the respect of your fellow man. 
You have won Success. There's noth- 
ing more to win — unless it be more of 
Success." 

I shook my head. 

"Randolph, this thing you call *Suc- 
cess' is hard and cold. That can't be 
all. There must be — " 

"Well, what then?" 

"Something more," I answered slow- 
ly. "Something more." 

"Forget your dreamings, boy," he 
hastened to say. "They don't mix well 
in business. I know what's wrong 



12 "Something More'' 

with your scheme of things. You've 
been working too hard and long. You 
must break your foolish rule about 
'making every minute count.' Come 
with me tonight, and we'll see the hap- 
pier side of things." 

''Smile if it makes your heart bleed. 
That smile may make sunshine for 
some oneJ' I chanted. 

He stopped short. 

"Say, man, that's what you've been 
missing. The 'Something More' you 
want is Happiness. Here, you've been 
plugging like a dray horse for six 
years, and you've missed the truly big 
things. It's the sugar of life you need 
now. Of course, the sweet is not every- 
thing. But when you've picked the 
lemons and squeezed them dry, and 
added the water of daily grind, the 



"Something More" 13 

drink's a sour one without the proper 
sugar of happiness added. Come out 
with me tonight. Forget the worries 
of the day. The world of pleasure is 
waiting for you. Come." 

And so, for the first time in many 
years, I was drawn into the world of 
Pleasure, to search for that one thing 
which cannot be had by the searching 
therefor — Happiness. 

God, help me forget that night! 

Its vivid discords — 

Its jangling harmony — 

Its blare of lights — 

Its loud and weary laughter — 

Its paint, its powder and its shams — 

God, help me forget that night! 



14 "Something More" 

A multitude of mothers there were. 

Around the outskirts of the giddy 
throng they perched. 

Each wore a smirking smile below a 
calculating eye. 

A rustle, as of harpies' wings, went 
round the outer circle of the room as 
Randolph brought me in. 

And then, with many a flap and 
squawk, the mothers gathered near. 

And bade me welcome to this realm 
that they had named Society. 

I was a man, unmarried, with a 
fortune. 

Randolph's partner! 

The inner man they did not know. 

Perhaps some mother instinct lived 
within them yet. Perhaps each hoped 



'Something More" 15 



that after all I was a better sort than 
might be feared. 

But to my unaccustomed eye, I only 
saw the things I tell. 

''You must meet my daughter, 
Esther," cried the first of these. 
"She's such a dear." 

And so I met her Esther. 

Then another's Maude. 

Then followed Katherines, Margar- 
ets, Nells and Maes. 

A multitude of mothers! 

No, I did not dance. 

"How lovely." 

Each mother was so glad. 

Each daughter, so it seemed, detested 
to frivol thus. 

Each would sit with me while others 
sacrificed themselves to this distorting 
art of now. 



16 



''Something More' 




And there were men. 

All dressed of a set pattern as my- 
self. 

Around a few the mothers hovered. 

These few were men of wealth. 

Mothers, multitudes of mothers, flap- 
ping near, and ever and anon, as some 
fresh worm was found, the mother bird 
would swoop and bear it to her nest, 
to fill an ever-gaping birdlet's mouth. 

God help me forget that night! 

Its vivid discords — 

Its jangling harmony — 

Its blare of lights — 

Its loud and weary laughter — 

Its paint, its powder and its shams — 

God, help me forget that night! 



"Something More'' 17 

Hours of confusion passed. 

Outside the night was cool. 

As a thief, I stole away. 

I drank deeply of the clean, crisp air. 

My limbs were cramped. 

My mind was dull. 

As I neared my club-house, the lights, 
the very artificial welcome of the place, 
repelled me. 

And so I walked on up the hill. 

The moon came out, and with its 
touch of magic, the world became a 
kindlier place. 

I passed a cottage. 

A woman stood peering down the 
hill. 

A babe lay asleep in her arms. 

A smile flashed upwards from her 
lips. 



B 



18 "Something More" 

I heard his cry of welcome from be- 
hind. He passed me running gladly. 

At the corner I turned. 

He held her closely in his arms. 

Then stooped, and kissed the child. 

The door closed. 

With the clicking of the latch that 
home became to me a cold black blotch, 
seen dimly through the night. 



Listlessly I wandered here and there. 
Ahead the deep shadows of a park 
invited. 

An automobile, turning sharply, 
threw its swinging light upon a couple 
seated on a bench. 

I saw for a moment a picture. 



"Something More' 



19 



And then the light swung by. 

And darkness followed. 

Yet in that flash I saw a woman's 
face. 

Her cheek was wet with tears. 

And as the sun shines through the 
rain, so shone her smile. 

And in her eyes I caught a flash of 
the eternal sacrifice. 

Here the light of eternity dwelt, and 
the whirring of the auto in the distance 
seemed to say: '^Beyond the hills! Be- 
yond the hills !" 

And I pondered this as I passed on. 




For a long, long time that night I sat 
awake. 

I reviewed my past, step on step. 



20 "Something More" 

Since that day, six years ago, when 
I had awakened to the knowledge that 
there is ''That Something" in every 
man, which when aroused will carry 
him to any height, I had held the thing 
called '"Success" ever in my grasp. 

And yet — and yet — there must be 
"Something More!" 

Where had I failed? 

Of service to my fellow man I had 
given much. 

Of the wealth of the world that had 
come my way, not only a tenth but 
double that had I given back. 

There was no self-glory in this giv- 
ing — 

For this is duty. 

Yours, mine and every man's. 

To give to others at least a part. 



"Something More" 21 

To get to give again is good; to get 
to hoard away brings misery. 

Of worldly sins I had kept myself 
apart. 

In those black days of long ago, I 
had seen their marks upon the wrecks 
around me. 

My life was clean. 

This was not virtue — 

But knowledge ! 

The hand that plays with fire is 
burned. 

Its scars I had seen on others. 

I was no fool. 

In this I had no boast. 

I had worked, long and untiringly. 

Not for myself alone. 

To Him, the giver of all gifts, I had 
bowed my head in daily reverence. 

''That Something'' He had given me. 



22 



'Something More" 



Of it I returned to Him a part, each 
day. 

And yet — and yet — there must he 
''Something More." 







Then I fell asleep. 

Even as that dream of long ago was 
born of the ponderings of the waking 
hours before, so came another vision to 
me now. 



As you read here, perhaps your lips 
begin to curl in pitying smile. 

*'Why, he^s a Mystic!'' 

And in that final word, it may be 
that you tuck away a deal of scorn and 
worldly wisdom. 



"Something More" 23 

(Dear reader, mark this, if you are 
one of those who only feel the things 
that are to you but things that hands 
can feel, and eyes can see, and ears can 
hear, I pray you lay aside this little 
book. There's nothing for you here.) 




This was the dream. 

A mystic being, clothed in robes of 
sparkling white, stood there beside my 
chair. 

I stared in wonder. 

*'Who are you?'' I cried. 

Came the answer low and clear: 

"I am the Spirit of Love," 

*'Why have you come?" 

"Because your soul is starving." 



24 "Something More'* 

"Starving?" I asked. "For what?" 
"For 'Something More/ " 
A silence. Then — 

"And what is that?" I cried eagerly. 

"That which the Spirit of Love is 
commissioned of God to guard." 

"And that?" 

"The heart of a true woman." 

"And have you brought me — " 

"I have brought you nothing. Each 
Woman gives her heart away. I am its 
guard. So I have come to read your 
soul, and then to dwell therein." 

"But, who is the woman whose heart 
is waiting for meT' 

For a time the Spirit did not answer. 
Then— 

"Look to the Crimson Sunset. She 
is there." 



''Something More" 25 

"And you'll go with me when I go to 
search?" 

"I will dwell in your soul forever — 
unless I am driven out." 

And in my dream, I weighed this 
answer. 

"Why would I drive you out?" 

The figure shook its head. 

"I do not know, but it is often done." 

"But how — and why?" I asked. 

"Man drives out the Spirit of Love 
in many ways. Why? Love cannot tell. 
She does not know. But these things 
are." 

"What?" I asked bewildered. 

"Faith must dwell with me always," 
came the answer. "Where Service does 
not live, there shall I weaken fast and 
die. While Love is strong, and Love is 
Power, yet there is weakness in the 



26 "Something More" 

Strength of Love. Man must be brave, 
or Love will forget to live, save as a 
pitying reflection of its real self, radiat- 
ing only a reminiscent glow called Sym- 
pathy. Love is beyond all defining. 
Love is Eternal Sacrifice. Love is the 
forgetting of all things unhallowed. 
Love is of God's gifts the rarest. Love 
is scorned by the Worldly, for Love is 
old-fashioned and quaint. Yet Love is 
the Light of tha Future — the Hope 
of the Coming Day." 

''But how did you know that I would 
bid you welcome?" 

"I heard the cry of your soul for — 
'Something More.' Until I hear that 
cry, I come to no one." 

And then the figure faded from my 
dream. 

And I awoke. 



"Something More" 



27 







In the graying dawn I hurried forth. 

I scrawled a line to Randolph — 

I gave no reason for my leaving. 

Anyway, he could not understand. 

The rising sun fell full upon my 
back. 

Already the awakening noises of the 
city lay behind. 

Into the West I walked, hour on 
hour, until the shadows I had trodden 
on, lay far behind me. 

This world was new. 

The very air was different. 

The music of the birds rang a strange 
happiness in my ears. 



28 "Something More'' 

As in my dream, I seemed to hear 
these words: **In the Crimson Sunset! 
In the Crimson Sunset!'' 

The scent of the violets ever and 
again gave place to the fragrance of 
the orchards as I passed. 

Each hill I topped brought vistas of 
another fairyland, with white straight 
road, ever leading on — into that calling 
West. 

And as the blanket of the night drew 
in, the dread and dreariness of the 
darkness seemed less than in the place 
of brick and stone left there behind. 

Ahead, far down the road, there 
shone a light. 

I hurried on. 

My knocking brought a bent old 
man to the door. 



''Something More" 29 

Behind, the good wife stood, a lamp 
held high above her questioning eyes. 

The bed they let me have was hard. 
The food was coarse. The place was 
furnished roughly. 

But as, at dawn, I left them there, 
leaning on their sagging gate watching 
me on my westward way, I seemed to 
catch the glint of Heaven's light, hid 
in their eyes. 

Their parting words kept ringing in 
my ears : ''We wish you well ! We wish 
you well!'' 

Old Age was their companion. 

The Future offered only hope where 
human vision turns back dismayed. 

Yet in their eyes this light shone 
clear. 

It shone like hers, back yonder in the 
park, that other night. 



30 ''Something More'' 

Yet different. 

For here the light was clear and 
bright, and knew no tears. 

And as I onward journed, day on 
day, I thought of this — and wondered. 




And as the sun went to its rest each 
night, I saw ahead that Crimson Smile, 
which ever called me on. 

This — until one day I climbed a hill, 
much steeper than the rest had been. 

Far below a river ran. 

It curved and wound among the hills, 
and yonder to its banks a village clung. 

Beyond, the green hills rose again, 
checkered with vineyard, orchard and 
field of grain. 



"Something More" 31 

Here and there a road would wander 
off. 

To my ears there came the droning 
of the summer bees, and now and then 
the clopping of a woodsman in the dis- 
tance seemed set to the music of the old 
couple's words back yonder: "We wish 
you well! We wish you well!" 

A cloud was coming up to meet the 
sun. 

I saw its shadow running up the hill 
to meet me at the top. 

It seemed a welcome to the place. 

In a nearby sycamore, a bird began 
to sing. 

Faster climbed the clouds. 

The blue above was hid. 

Lightning wove its web of fire across 
the sky. 

A crash of thunder. 



32 "Something More' 




And then the rain. 

Great drops beat upon my upturned 
face. 

Across the valley hungry fields re- 
joiced. 

The drone of insects, song of birds, 
— all sound was smothered in the swish 
of falling rain. 

In a twinkling, the scene had 
changed. 

This became a land fed by its God. 

And it was good. 

Streamlets formed in the road be- 
neath my feet, and ran on ahead to- 
wards the village. 

With the rain, came deepening twi- 
light. 



. "Something More" 33 

I hurried on. 

And then, ahead of me, lying by the 
road, a woman! 

Her head was buried in her arm. 

Her hair, a sodden mass of golden 
threads, had tumbled whichaway about 
her head. 

For a moment I stood as one bound 
by terror. 

A sharp crack of thunder split its 
way into the swishing silence of the 
rain. 

I ran, splashing through the mud. 

Her face was very white. 

Her eyes were closed. 

Across her cheek, a trickle of blood 
lost itself in the sheeting rain. 

As I lifted her, the darkness came, 
quickly without warning, as though by 
some strange foreordination. 

C 



34 "Something More" 

Another peal of thunder taunted 
from the east. 

A vivid flash of lightning. 

The blackness rushed in again. 

I drew her face against my cheek, 
and felt the faintest breath of life. 

For a moment her cold lips lay 
against my face. 

I stumbled on. 

The wind was roaring through the 
valley now. 

Blindly I struggled through the 
night. 

That limp and lifeless living thing, 
held closely in my arms, seemed but a 
part of the blackness that pressed in 
around me. 

Long spaces intervened between 
those cutting stabs of lightning. 
Minutes passed as hours. 



''Something More" 35 

The road became a torrent. The 
water ran near to my knees. 

Once I fell across a windstricken 
tree, that lay upon the road. 

The faintest moan came from those 
lips. 

I blundered on, half run, half stum- 
bling walk. 

On through the blackness of that 
blackest night. 

Then, suddenly I felt the blackness 
to my right give way. 

My eyes could see no difference, feel 
no sensation of light in that hopeless 
blackness. 

Yet my inner senses told me that the 
trees had given way to open land. 

So, turning to the right, I stumbled 
in a step or two against a fence. 

Along this I felt my way. 



36 "Something More" 

I found a gate. 

Another age of fighting with the 
wind, the rain, the baffling darkness. 

I found the house. Stumbled up the 
few steps to the porch. 

Fumbling, I found the knob. 

The door opened to my touch. 

I staggered into the room, and lay 
her on the bare boards of the floor. 

Hurrying back, I shut out rain and 
wind, to face the deeper darkness of 
the room. 

I felt my way to a window, and for 
some moments I waited for the light- 
ning's flash to light the place. 

And then it came, revealing vividly 
each detail of the bare little church in 
which I stood — alone. 

The ivoman was gone. 



'Something More" 



37 




Were this a book of mystery, some- 
thing meant to please or kill an idle 
hour, perhaps a plot would here develop 
that would carry you to stirring hap- 
penings such as writers love to tell 
about. 

There is no mystery. 

When you, with gaping mouth and 
twitching nerve, see done upon a stage 
some strange and fascinating trick, 
with curtains black and other tawdry 
stuff to smack of mystery, you realize 
that down beneath it all lies cold and 
careful reason. 

And so in life. 



38 "Something More" 

That which you see, you see, and if it 
moves from place to "place, there's rea- 
son for the moving. 

Life's mystery is in life itself — 

Not in the things the senses know. 

And thus I reasoned to myself, that 
night, as I stood there alone, waiting 
for another flash of lurid light. 

And when it came, it showed my 
waiting eyes a trail across the floor 
made by the water from her rain- 
soaked dress. 

She had crept away — through the 
back — into the night. 
I followed blindly. 



"Something More" 39 

The rain had ceased. 

The wind died down. 

The storm was passing. 

A yellow moon slid in and out behind 
the scudding clouds. 

Black shapes loomed up. 

Night sounds came floating from 
afar. 

A bell was wildly ringing in the 
village. 

A dog began to bay. 

Back on the hill behind some woman's 
voice was raised in song. 

Across the bridge below, the rapid 
clack-clack of horses' hoofs. 

And then I saw her figure, as a ghost 
must look, far down the road. 

I ran towards her, calling. 

She stood with her hands pressed to 
her breast, as I came up. 



40 "Something More'' 

"Why do you follow me?" 

I stood a gaping fool in search of 
words. 

She turned from me and ran wildly 
down the road. 

Fearing to cause her fear, I stood 
where she had left me. 

Then from below the splashing of a 
horse* s hoofs. 

A buggy drew to her side. 

The rasp of iron tire on iron told 
me that it had turned about. 

The crack of a whip. 

The hoofbeats died in the distance. 

For a moment, when the bridge was 
reached, they lived again. 

The ringing of the bell had almost 
ceased, and its echoes seemed to say to 
my wondering ears: "S-t-a-y h-e-r-e-! 
S-t-a-y h-e-r-e-!" 



"Something More'' 41 

No other sound but dripping water 
from the trees. 

An hour later I found the village and 
a bed. 




Rest is more than lying down — 

Than daily closing tired eyes — 

Than drifting into realms of dreams. 

Here in this village on the river's 

brink I rested as a tired soul may rest, 

when smiling conscience smooths a 

troubled brow. 

******** 

I learned to know a people here and 
learned to love them. 

They were real. 

I wondered that no poverty was 
theirs. 



42 ''Something More'' 

They lived each day. 

Here hands were rough and muscles 
hard. 

Pleasure dwelt with happiness within 
their homes. 

Such bedfellows are rarely found 
ivhere laughter's the barometer of joy. 

These folk were simple folk. 

No glare nor glamor called them 
here. 

When day was done, the gentle light 
of home sent forth its call. 

And there they found contentedness. 

The very word is strange in cities. 

But I found it here. 

So here I rested as the Summer grew 
on to Fall. - 



''Something More" 4? 

Mary ! 

Tall, slim, graceful as a flower. 
Her golden hair was crown indeed. 
Her eyes — deep and dark — seemed to 
hold the mystery of night. 

Her hands were not too small, nor 
yet too soft, nor yet too fair. 

The sun had cast its tan in kindly 
tint upon her oval face. 

She lived as God would have us live, 
and looked on Idleness and Illness as 
twin sisters, born of Sin. 

She loved to live, and lived to love, 
and shed a radiance where she went. 

Her youth framed the greater thing 
— Womanhood. 

She looked on Duty as a Joy. 

And so I saw her then — and now. 

The Woman. 



44 ''Something More" 

She came to me the day following the 
storm. 

The red burned in her cheeks. 

''When I gathered my scattered 
senses, last night," she said, "I found 
that I was being carried — by someone, 
I knew not whom, somewhere, I knew 
not where — and it was all mystery there 
in the dark. Then I felt myself laid 
upon those hard boards. I lay very 
still. A flash of light. I saw the form 
of a man, and I was afraid. So I 
crawled away, through the back, out 
into the night. Then you followed, and 
the fear was strong in me. I ran and 
my father was driving up the road and 
took me away. When I was home, and 
dry again, and sitting by the fire with 
those I loved around me, I realized 
what I had done, and was ashamed. 



"Something More'' 45 

You saved me — saved my life, for 
where my horse had thrown me, a small 
river ran after that rain had fallen. I 
have come to ask you to forgive me — 
and to thank you." 

All this she said, standing with me 
near the beech tree by the bridge, and 
the birds sang their melody that seems 
to say: ''This is the one! This is the 
one!" 

And so began our friendship. 

A wanderer from the Eastern hills, 
I found the gates of this village open 
wide. 

At first the people here looked queer- 
ly into my eyes, and then the gaze grew 
friendly. 

I found my place among them. 

Of their life, I became a part. 

And so the months led Summer to- 
wards the Fall. 



46 "Something More'' 




^.■»h 



Across a distant hill, lived Mary's 
sister. 

We drove one day out through the 
golden fields, on ever rising road, and 
found this sister's home. 

Roses bloomed. 

Green grass and border lines of 
pansies. 

An orchard lay behind the house, 
whose branches bowed with ripening 
fruit. 

Beyond, a barn, and then the golden 
fields again. 

The husband, coat a thing for Sab- 
bath wear, ran from the fields as we 
drew near, his flapping hat of ancient 
birth waved welcome as he came. 



''Something More" 47 



Then the children, playing near the 
barn, came shouting. 

So we drew rein before their home. 

''How's Ruth, John?'' asked Mary. 

"Finer than ever, and half crazy to 
see you," he replied. "Hurry on in, or 
she'll come out after you." 

Then to the house. 

(Mock modesty of modern maids, 
how cheap and tawdry are thy claptrap 
city robes, cut as thy smug modiste 
would have us think the angels' robes 
are made.) 

The room was darkened to a dusk. 

The children tiptoed at the door. 

The outside noises of the farm came 
faintly to us there. 

The face of her who lay upon the 
snowy bed lit with a smile that filled 
the room — a radiance of joy. 



48 "Something More" 



A white and trembling hand was 
placed in mine. 

Her eyes searched mine, then turned 
to Mary's by my side. 

She spoke some words of usual wel- 
come. 

And I replied. 

Just words, as any one might speak. 

I drew away. 

Then Mary stooped, and drew that 
bundled bit of budding life from by the 
mother's breast. 

And as, on bended knees, there by 
the bed, she kissed that ivee pink face, 
her eyes were lit with that strange 
light that I had seen before, back yon- 
der in the park; yet this, while like, 
was different. 

And then her eyes were lifted from 
the sleeping babe. 



''Something More" 49 

Her gaze met mine and held. 

I saw the crimson melt the tan. 

Forgetting place, and time, and self, 
our souls met here — and lived together 
for a space. 

Her lips were smiling now. 

And then I tcnew. 

And that song, which no ear can 
hear, made music in my heart, and I 
saw my journey's end draw near. 

For here was the Crimson Sunset — 
that lay in the Calling West. 



^\i/4^ 




On the crest of the hill we paused. 

Behind, the sun had stooped to kiss 
a distant mountain peak. 

Before us lay the valley, steeped in 
dusk. 

D 



50 ''Something More" 

There in the golden silence, we were 
above the world alone. 

Wierd shadows wandered through 
the valleys, but we felt no fear. 

The coming shade of night called 
workers from their toil. 

Those dots below were herders driv- 
ing home their flocks. 

And then the Crimson Sunset came, 
and with that gathering dusk, I heard 
that call — 

The call to home, when day is done. 

And so I turned, and searched, and 
found within the eyes that questioned 
mine, the light that only shines for 
one. 

"Always?" 

For a moment, her lips gave no an- 
swer. Then came her words, soft and 
tender and sweet. 



'Something More" 51 



"Always — and always — and forever 
— and forever." 

Then, hand in hand, we journeyed 
on, and went in silence down the hill- 
side to her home. 



{In most of mawkish modern tales, 
here is the end, and were I writing 
now a story of that modern love, which 
plays the leading role in stories that 
bookmen sell the most of, here I would 
write my ''Finis** and let it go at that. 
But here begins the story that I have 
to tell. 



For here began that ''Something 
More," which made my life a thing that 
lives, and not a mere machine for self.) 



52 



"Something More' 




SFt<^^ 



A year had passed. 

The sun shone clear above. 

The rattle and the roar of city streets 
was music to my ears. 

For here my work lay. 

And of this I was a part. 

Here was my place. 

And it was good. 

Slowly through the crowded streets, 
my car worked in and out. 

The delays caused me no impatience. 

They had told me that an hour must 
pass, and maybe more. 

Better here than walking before the 
home that stood upon the hill. 

A great gladness lived in my heart. 



''Something More'' 53 

My soul sang its praises to The God. 

And so the minutes dragged along. 

And then my driver stopped the 
car; the hour was spent — 

How I reached the room, I do not re- 
member. 

It was all very quiet and still. 

I knelt on the floor. 

My arm found its place beneath her 
head, as it lay there near as white as 
the pillow beneath. 

Her lips were cold, as they had been 
that night of the storm. 

But a smile lived in her tired eyes. 

She drew aside the covers. 

Her voice was very weak — and very 
brave — and very dear to me as I knelt 
there by her side. 

"See, dear," she whispered, "and 
now we must forget all about our selfish 



54 



"Something More' 



selves, for now we have to live for — ^for 
'Something More/ " 




Matthew Morrison Randolph smiled. 

"So it's only love, after all?'' he said. 
"Well, boy, I don't see anything so 
wonderful about that. You may visit 
the palaces of kings or slink into the 
hovels of beggars, and in each you will 
find the mating instinct. It runs through 
nature, from the lowest order of things 
up to the divine. Every family tree is 
full of it. Why, every fool—" 

"Stop, Randolph!" I said sharply. 
"There is 'Something More.' This 
'Something More' is more than what 
the World calls Love, and what you 



"Something More'' 55 



sneeringly speak of as the Mating In- 
stinct that runs through nature." 

"Well, what is it, then?" asked Ran- 
dolph. "IVe watched the social wheels 
turn round, and seen the couples mated, 
and heard the songs of love they sing. 
It's rather commonplace. Naturally, in 
Society — " 

"Society? Ah, Randolph, how flip- 
pantly we use the word. Up yonder on 
the hill each night a swarm of women 
flock about, and stoop to spread their 
virgin charms before a herd of useless 
men. Young women, looking out on 
life, that see the future as a place of 
ever-changing pleasures and of ease. 
And men, useless men, who spend their 
dollars easy from the sweat of other 
days in scheming plans for dragging 

men who toil. These men These 

women And this you call the 



56 ''Something More'' 

Younger Set This turmoil, where 

dollar marks are chaperons, where men 
are moral only where the sister's eye 
can see, this you call Society, and here 
you look for Love.'* 

For a moment we sat in silence. 

"Love, Randolph," I continued.. "Is 
love , a tie that binds such men and 
women? How are they bound? I've 
seen them married, seen them live 

awhile in ease and then You know 

how it goes, man. How soon they tire 
of that weak thing that you call 'Love !' 
And then they look about to find some 
flame to light their drab and empty 
lives, some cold and ghastly flame 
whose brightness dazzles, until it sends 
its wicked tongue of quenchless fire into 
what little souls they have, and leaves 
a crackling bitterness that rattles as 
a cinder in a crystal bowl. 



"Something More" 57 

"Gad, what a cynic you are!** 
"Cynic, Randolph? No. no! But 
I have eyes that see. Why, man, read 
your papers. Love? You tell me that 
there is Love up there ? Bathe your eyes 
in Truth, and look on the thing that 
you have told me is Society. See the 
wives and husbands there, haunted by 
the smiles of unborn, unbidden chil- 
dren that hover in the cold above their 
homes, cheated from their right of 
being born by some strange cur or 
Persian cat, that sleeps upon a velvet 
rug before a glowing hearth. Would 
you dub every lustful leer, every carnal 
desire, every hope for gaining wealth 
and ease by saying, as a parrot, half a 
hundred words before a minister of 
God — would you dub this as such a 
thing as Love. Man, you are wrong. 
For Love is 'Something More.' " 



58 "Something More" 

Then Randolph turned to me. 

"Man," he cried, "I believe you. 
There must be 'Something More/ The 
world has fallen into slothfulness, 
dodges duty as a curse and seeks but 
ease. Yes, I've seen those giddy folk 
walk up the aisle and say their little 
say before the parson, and Fve seen 
them leave the church, and live awhile 
and seem to love. They call it *Love* — 
I've watched their faces weary. I've 
heard the crunching tread of Discon- 
tent fall in behind them. And then 
they start across that dry and dreary 
desert, where the sun of their own 
selfishness has parched and shrivelled 
every hope of happiness. And so, for a 
time, through the burning sands they 
plod on. And I've seen the gaunt 
and leering form of Grim Divorce 



''Something More" 59 

invite them to his gloom, which to their 
hungry eyes seems but a shadowy re- 
treat." 

For a moment he paused. Then — 

"Why, there's not a man I know 
but who will tell me, in a confidential 
sort of way, that Marriage as a whole 
is but a failure. Yet Marriage must be 
the sequel to this thing that they call 
Love. You're right, son, you're right. 
There must be 'Something More'." 

"There is, Randolph." 

"But what?" 

"You must look to the Crimson Sun- 
set, that foretells the coming of another 
and a better day. Take unto yourself 
first the Spirit of Love, and leave be- 
hind the taints of a workaday world. 
And somewhere, for every man, there 
waits a heart, a heart that ivill be his 



60 ^'Something More'' 

through all eternity, a heart that will 
make for him the greatest thing that 
God can give to mortal man." 

"And what is that?" asked Randolph. 

"A Home," I answered, "a home 
where Love is ever present. A home 
where children laugh, and where a 
mother watches o'er her brood. A 
home where tears are kissed away, a 
home where laughter never causes 
pain." 

For a moment, I looked into his lone- 
some eyes. 

"And that is what I mean, old friend 
of mine," I concluded, as I rose to go 
to my home where she was waiting me. 
That's what I mean by— Something 
More." 



DOO 



IF YOU HAVE NOT READ — 

"THAT SOMETHING" 

By WILLIAM W. V/OODBRIDGE 

— we urge that you read the opinions of 
some of America's foremost men, as 
shown in the letters reproduced in the 
pages that follow. 

"That Something" makes the ideal 
gift book, being peculiarly suitable for 
a commencement or birthday present. 
It has been the means of bringing suc- 
cess to many men and women — it will 
perform miracles for you or your 
friends. 

It may be had from any book dealer, 
or will be sent direct, post paid, upon 
receipt of price. 

Laurel Ed., 50c — Spanish Leather, $1.00 



Smith -DiGBY Co. 

PUBLISHERS TACOMA, WASH, 



In Testimony Whereof : 

HARRINGTON EMERSON, New York City. 
President, The Emerson Company, 
Efficiency Engineers. 
"It puts the conviction that inspires me into 
compelling: form. It is a message that ought to 
go out to all men everywhere. It is 'THAT 
SOMETHING' that makes the difference between 
the ten who lead and the ten thousand who drift. 
I want at least a hundred copies." 

ELBERT HUBBARD, East Aurora, New York. 

The most widely read author in the world. 
" 'THAT SOMETHING' is charming and I am 
reading it with pleasure and profit. It really 
beats the 'Message to Garcia.' " 

REV. J. D. O. POWERS, Pastor. 

First Unitarian Church, Seattle, Wash. 
"'THAT SOMETHING' ought to be placed In 
the hands of every young man and wowan start- 
ing out in life. It is one of the most inspiring? 
and uplifting and suggestive books I have ever 
read, and it wil put not only hope but POWER 
into every one who will read and ponder it." 

P. W. GALBRAITH, Jr. 

The Western Papef Goods Co., Cincinnati, O. 
"It tells you in words what many men have 
never been able to define. It will help any man 
if he reads it and understands its message. Every 
man, woman and boy ought to read 'THAT SOME- 
THING.' " 

CHARLES L. BAUER, 

Bauer Bros., Springfield, Ohio. 
"I do not know that I have read anything of 
the kind that has given me the inspiration that 
•THAT SOMETHING' has." 

MISS MAUDE WILLIS, 

Dramatic Reader, New York City. 
"'THAT SOMETHING' is indeed a wonderful 
story. I cannot get it out of my mind. I am 
writing to beg your permission to let me use 
this as a public reading. I am booked exten- 
sively on Chautaquas, and the message of your 
story is needed by so many, oh, so very many! 
May I not help to carry this message?" 



''^?*?it?e^e??'?T°HAT°To^Mfe?H'lNa- It tells 
the whole story." 

Who will be benefitted by it * • *• 

sJrmon two weeks ago, an<i it made sucti a P^^^^ 
S^o"r*ui'"^'a\^^forVtH a*?d^ t^Sfmlx was greet- 
ed with prolonged applause. 

°- ^ ^tJe?P?e^&ent Massey Business Colleges. 
•••THAT^SmeTHING: is more gripping than 
the 'Message to Garcia.' " 

HON. ERNEST "STBR Governor of Washmg^on. 
THIN§^wlu\e"'of Tr^SeSnrllle benefit to its 
readers." 

«■ ^- fi^e'^Jfe^iaent Spokane and Eastern Trust 
anVIfn^SS^; iuVrS'^Ca^rS 

'im^^^^r.SSi 1^^^ en'oi^grtl 
read it through." 

RUSSBp P. GREINER, Past Pre^ia^^^^^^^ City. Mo. 
IiternationaA Rotary CIM^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ 

.„ L;;irse^t|lf4|.||>„eaen time^«nd^some^ 

SfgSiSi se\Vo^,°an|',Vi my mind glows with 
the principles of Rotary. 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




